When I started building Aavya, a dear friend and yoga teacher looked me straight in the eye and said: “Ashish, your business is now your yoga.”
I nodded wisely, like I knew what that meant. I didn’t.
Back then, I thought it was just a poetic compliment. You know—“Ah yes, business as spiritual practice.” Very LinkedIn-worthy. But as the days passed, the words started to haunt me in the most inconvenient ways.
Because if Aavya is my yoga, then guess what? I’ve been in one awkward holding pose for months. Add cash flow anxiety, under-construction rooms, a rainy off-season coming up, and daily existential questions like “Am I even doing this right?”—and yes, my “yoga” is in full swing.
It’s a weird place to be: the space is growing. The vibe is strong. The team is getting stronger, more in sync—but we’re still a bunch of eclectic people figuring it out together. These young folks are part of Aavya’s growth now. And, gently, they’re becoming my responsibility too. That’s a beautiful thing—but I don’t carry it quietly. I talk about it all the time. I tell everyone what I’m trying to do, almost hoping for some reassurance. Some days I’m looking for signs that we’re on the right path. Where’s that deep unshakeable confidence people talk about? And yet, somewhere under all the noise, I know it’s there. Long-term. Steady.
Just mixed in with a whole lot of bloody confusion.
And yet—I’m often quietly panicking about money. I never wake up in the middle of the night. But the first thing I wake up with is worry—usually about money. A weight on my chest that no mantra can quite dissolve.
I try to meditate. Not meditate—because the thoughts keep coming. Sometimes I’m just sitting with my eyes closed, spiraling into a mental checklist of what still needs to be done at Aavya.
And that list is long.
I’m the one who holds the space, yes—but also the one who holds the to-do list, the cash flow concerns, the team dynamics, the big picture, the small details. It’s a lot.
But maybe that’s part of it. Maybe that’s the yoga.
Not the deep silence, but the deep showing up. Not the empty mind, but the honest one that keeps returning even when it’s full.
I manifest. I re-budget. I sing to myself. I take another puff of a cigarette I probably shouldn’t be smoking. Then the mental calculations begin. One minute I’m overconfident. The next, I’m back to worrying again.
There’s beauty here, yes—but also a sadness I didn’t expect. The kind that comes when your dream starts to grow faster than your energy. When the thing you love the most also demands the most of you.
But here’s what I’m learning:
Maybe the worry isn’t a sign of failure. Maybe it’s part of the yoga. The emotional backbend I didn’t ask for.
Because, truth be told—everything that needed to happen has happened. Even the low months. Even the dry spells. Even the moments I thought, “What am I doing with my life?” All of it taught me something.
I’ve stopped trying to answer whether my thoughts created the scarcity or if the scarcity created the thoughts. At this point, it’s a chicken-and-egg I’m not qualified to solve.
Instead, I’m trying to:
Worry less, feel more.
Trust more, force less.
Stay soft, even when the pressure rises.
Because the truth is: Aavya is me. And like me, it’s going to grow imperfectly, beautifully, and sometimes painfully.
I can’t force it. But I can keep showing up. With a little more humour. A little more honesty. And a quiet hope that softness is still strength.
So yeah—my business is my yoga. Some days it’s child’s pose. Some days it’s just an uphill walk with no water bottle. Some days, it’s just sitting still with tears in your eyes and trusting that’s enough.
But either way, I’m here. Breathing. Creating. Moving ahead. Newer ideas keep arriving. Dreams keep unfolding. Aavya continues to grow as I do—slowly, sometimes chaotically, but always with heart.
We’re not a perfect retreat. We’re not a polished resort. But if you’re looking for a space in Rishikesh that’s honest, raw, and evolving—maybe Aavya will speak to you too.
Namaste to that.
